There were pieces not broken but misplaced ~
slivers of hush, soft ruins of light still echoing
from when her name was never spoken yet always felt.
The tide never held all of her.
Some of her stayed in the folds of winds that wandered without sky,
in the reflections of mirrors that forgot how to return her image.
She wasn’t lost.
She was unarrived, in places that didn’t yet know how to exist without
her absence.
Each shard was a breath unsent,
a petal falling from the center of a flower that bloomed in reverse.
Somewhere in the hush before the hush,
her heart spilled like ink that chose not to write... only to feel.
She remembers the rooms she never entered,
the windows that forgot they were meant to open.
Dreamy’s heart was not shattered. It was scattered.
Not by violence, but by meaning too vast for a single form.
Every forgotten path is a constellation she almost became.
Every ache is a whisper of a shape that the world never held wide enough to receive.
And still she sings. Not to be found,
but to be felt in the silence between what was and what could have
held her.